Xander Shows Me My Prostate

My brain surges into panic-stricken overdrive. Xander thought the video was cheesy or a turnoff, and he's rethinking everything he knows about me. Or, maybe, Lucy has decided she doesn't want the two of us to see each other any more. Perhaps he told her a little about our conversations, about how we'd promised that we could restrain ourselves to something physical alone, and she decided that was still outside of the realms of their agreement. 

Or maybe, the darkest and most treacherous part of my mind suggests, he's just tired of me. Not Lucy, not because of the video, but just because what we had - what we, for a while, were to each other - has run its course. 

Xander's a nice guy. I know he is. And so he's not just going to ghost me, or tell me things are over in a text message. Instead we're going to have to sit face to face, I bet, as he tries to reassure me what I know isn't really the case, that it's him not me. My stomach flips and clenches at just the thought of it. 

What I can't do is get childish about it. Complain about losing something he never promised me in the first place; be whiny and pathetic about a sex partner I was only ever borrowing. Maybe I didn't see this coming, and maybe I'd allowed myself the indulgence of believing we could ever mean more to each other than just a dragged-out hook up. That, though, was my problem. Not Xander's.

I stare at his message, trying to figure out how to reply. Finally tap out "Tomorrow?" and hit send. 

"Let's get breakfast," pops up a few seconds later, and a time. 

I send back an "OK" and lock my phone. 

I'd felt feverish waiting for some sort of response or message from him. Now, it's like I've been doused in icy water; limbs cold and stiff as I pull the blankets up around me. Wondering, not for the first time, how I managed to go from getting off in a new way to feeling rejected, all in the space of a week. 

Part of me wants to blame Dan, for encouraging me with the photos and then the video. Or blame Xander himself, even as I know that's ridiculous and unfair. That it's all ridiculous, really, and all unfair, and that nobody - barring, perhaps, myself - is to blame, here. 

Human nature, maybe, as frustrating as that is. 

The problem, the next morning, is that every time I start to feel excited about seeing him, my brain promptly reminds me that everything is fucked. Doesn't stop me from pulling on a t-shirt that I hope will cling to my chest, my shoulders, in ways that Xander might find appealing, or from choosing jeans that maybe, just maybe, will show off my ass a little better. Feeling ridiculous as I stand in front of the mirror, craning to look over my shoulder and see if my butt looks juicy. 

It's denial, but I don't really want to dwell on reality. Had enough bad dreams about that as I tossed and turned, waking gummy-eyed and hardly feeling rested. 

It means I can't not have coffee, even though I know it'll make me jittery too. More jittery, that is. The fizz of excitement I've grown to associate with Xander, in the depths of my belly, now being coopted by anxiety. It seems as unfair as the rejection I know is coming. 

"I'm outside." 

I don't bother replying to his text; just grab my keys and my wallet, shove my phone into my pocket, and try not to look like I'm cringing preemptively as I walk down the driveway to where he's waiting at the end. Take a breath as I reach for the door handle, slipping into the seat alongside him with as wide a grin as I can manage. 

"Hey," I say, softly. Xander looks at me; smiles, in a way I'm suddenly realizing now that I don't want to give up. 

As if I had any say in the matter. 

"Hey Luka. I like your shirt."

It's the compliment I was hoping for, but somehow - even as I blush, and look away feeling coy - I can't quite get excited about it. Not when I know it's him preparing me for as gentle a letdown as he can. 

"I was thinking we could try the same place as yesterday, but skip the microwave this time," he suggests. I nod, not quite trusting my voice. He stares at me a moment longer, then nods too, turning back to the road. 

I should be talking. Could even be using this as an opportunity to plead my case; to persuade him that - despite what he's seen in me, despite the doubts - I really can be trusted to keep this all physical, just like he asked me to. And yet I can't. Can only watch the traffic as we sit in what I hope counts as a companionable silence. 

It's the same guy as before at the register, and I figure he recognizes us too, given the grin he flashes as we walk up. 

"Back so soon?"

I smile at him, feeling goofy. Yesterday he saw me boned up - through my shorts, sure, but that was hardly hiding anything - and now, I guess, he's going to see Xander let me down gently. Not that I can mention either of those things to him, of course. 

"What do you want?" Xander asks me. The menu board is swimming in front of my eyes. 

"Uh, the same as before?" 

He nods. "Two breakfast burritos, then, please. And coffee?" The question is aimed at me; I nod back at him. "Two coffees, too," he finishes. 

"You got it. I'll have the drinks here, and if you want I can bring the burritos over when they're ready?" 

The guy is cute, I realize, or at least some slice of my brain does. Maybe gay, too, or at least not some homophobic asshole. I wonder if he ever gets as confused as I've been this week; if his sexuality was something he grew up knowing, or if just got a short, sharp shock about it, like I did. Didn't see it coming, and felt raw and uncertain in the aftermath. 

What advice would he give me, if I asked him now about what to do when you're losing a relationship you didn't even realize you wanted?

I don't ask anything like that, of course. Just take the drink he offers, murmur a quiet "thanks," and walk over to the couch by the window that Xander has picked. 

The first sip is hot enough to distract me, at least for a moment. 

"That video was... unexpected," he says, with a grin. I feel my cheeks bloom red. 

"It was Dan's idea," I tell him, "he's a bad influence, I think."

Xander chuckles. "But a good cameraman."

I was red before. Now I'm even redder. "I wasn't sure if I should've sent it to you," I admit. Xander raises an eyebrow, mouth obscured by the rim of his cup. "Just seemed... forward," I say, trying to put into words the nerves I've been feeling ever since hitting send last night. 

"After everything, that seemed forward?" he asks, smiling. 

I shrug. If I'm going to get bad news this morning, I don't see why I should hang myself up in the process, too. 

There's silence, for a moment, and then Xander sits back a little on the couch. Rolling his cup between his palms, steam drifting. 

"I had a talk with Lucy," he says, finally. 

In a way, it's a relief. Because I don't have to blame myself for not being persuasive enough, for not knowing the right words to say in the car, or at the counter, or even here right in front of him. It doesn't matter what argument I might have, or could make. This all comes down to the terms of their agreement, the rules by which they play. Some things you don't get to argue with. 

He's giving me a pained look, I realize, when I manage to meet his eyes again. And as painful and frustrating as it is, more so than I could ever have guessed it might be, I know I don't want him to feel bad. 

"It's okay, I understand," I tell him. 

Xander frowns. "What do you understand?" 

It seems, for the first time, a little cruel of him. To make me put it in so many words. 

We're interrupted by the cafe guy with two plates, and napkins, and a smile that stumbles a little as he looks between our expressions. "Everything okay with the coffees?" he ventures. 

I try to give him a grin. "Yes, great; thanks." 

He nods, seeming unconvinced, but still backs away from the table. I wait until I'm pretty sure he's out of earshot before I look back at Xander, who apparently hadn't turned away from me at all. 

"We should eat, so you can drop me back home," I tell him, reaching for the plate. 

Am stilled in that, by his hand on my wrist. The grip not tight, or even really holding me. But still enough to make me freeze, self-conscious, and hyper-aware of his fingers pressing against my skin. 

"Luka, what do you mean, you 'understand'?" he asks me. 

I take a breath. It's not like I was a fly on the wall for their conversation, but I can imagine well enough how it likely went.

"You told her about what we'd been doing, and Lucy said you hadn't kept it physical so we can't..." I don't have the words to end that. "Fuck" seems too blunt, but anything else feels like it would need negotiation between the two of us to agree on first. Something we never got around to doing. 

I sigh, frustrated at myself, at him, at the whole damn situation. 

"So she said we can't see each other any more. Like I told you, I understand. It's fine." 

He's staring at me, and showing no signs of moving or responding, so I brush his hand off me as I reach forward and finally grab the plate. Wonder, or at least some small chunk of my brain does, how I'm going to unwrap the foil without getting the hot contents all over myself. 

"What did you... where... Luka..." I look up, from where I was carefully picking at the edges of the wrapping with my fingertips. Find Xander looking at me with the sort of expression you'd have seeing a new animal for the very first time. "Wh-where did that come from?" he manages to stutter out, finally. 

I blink at him. "You talked to Lucy, and said we had to talk."

He takes a breath. "Lucy and I broke up."

For some reason I'd picked up the burrito again. After a few seconds, of us staring at each other like we've just started speaking completely foreign languages, the pain receptors in my fingertips remind me that it's still far, far too hot. I drop it on the plate. 

"Wait, what?" 

Xander's still giving me that bemused look. "Lucy and I broke up. We talked, and..." No words, for a moment. And then a sigh, deeper than the last one, and longer. "It turned out she was into a girl she'd been with. I guess keeping things physical is tougher than you think."

My brain still feels like it's barely firing on a single cylinder. "So you..." 

He shrugs, leaning back and running his fingers through his hair. For some reason my brain decides that's the moment to notice the black sleeveless top he's wearing; the way it emphasizes the starkness of the sleeve tattoo that snakes up his arm and wraps sinuous tendrils around his shoulder. 

Well, maybe the way his biceps swelled as he did it was one of the reasons my brain paid attention. 

"We're friends, still. We might be... I dunno, one day maybe we'll be more again?" His expression looks a little lost, somehow. Like reality is sluggishly dawning on him, just as gradually as it is on me. "But yeah. We broke up."

"So... you're not with her any more."

He may be feeling overwhelmed, but Xander can still muster a pointed eyebrow arch. "Yes, Luka, I'm saying Lucy and I aren't dating any more."

My mouth is dry. "Okay," I say, because I have to say something and nothing else is there. 

I want to be excited. At least, part of me does. But there's a voice in my head which is also reminding me not to get ahead of myself; that one thing does not automatically mean another. That just because Xander isn't with Lucy any more, I can't assume anything more than it means he's single now. 

"Are you... okay?" I ask him, finally. Xander sighs again. 

"Like... I think so? I feel like I should be more upset, after how long we've been together," he adds. "But it felt kinda right, for the both of us."

"That's good," I agree, feeling ridiculous as I say it. 

Silence, for a moment. I can feel him staring at me. 

"You thought we were going to have to..." Xander stops there. I wonder if he was going to say "break up" but then reconsidered it. That sort of language not really being appropriate for whatever we are to each other. 

I shrug. "I figured you'd choose a relationship over something... just physical."

He chuckles. "We were doing a shitty job of keeping it just physical."

I let myself smile, just a little. "I was trying," I insist.

Xander smiles as well. "Me too. But we were still doing a shitty job of it."

I remember how he described it. The other day, the time when I'd first felt what he and I were doing together was slipping through my fingers. A crush. 

And I want to ask him, I really, really do. But that seems... No, I know it's cowardly. Unfair, to ask him something and only then put myself, my own feelings, on the line. Wait for Xander to be vulnerable, before I consider doing the same. 

"I still have a crush on you," I tell him, softly. Voice so low, you'd think we were still stood at the counter, and I was trying to avoid the guy at the register eavesdropping. 

It's loud enough for Xander to hear, though. And I'm watching his face closely enough that I can see the way the corners of his mouth shift, in the very slightest of smiles. 

"I still have a crush on you, too," he says, finally. 

We sit there, quiet against the background noise of the cafe, with our shy smiles. Until finally, Xander chuckles again.

"Eat your burrito, otherwise we'll have let another two go cold."

And so I eat my burrito. 

It doesn't stop me sneaking glances at him, though, or seeing that Xander is doing the same. The both of us grinning - like idiots, my mom would say, shaking her head at how silly we both are - as we pick our way carefully through the food. 

"Can I get you guys anything else? More coffee?" 

The guy from behind the counter is giving us a look that's almost concerned; more so, really, than running low on caffeine might justify. I swallow, wishing I hadn't just taken such a big bite. 

"Uh, maybe one more?" I suggest; see Xander nod in agreement. 

"Got it, coming up." The guy smiles, and starts to turn, before stopping and looking back at us. "I know I shouldn't..." There's a look on his face, like he's now wishing he hadn't said anything at all. "But... I hope you guys are okay. You seem like, uh... a cute couple. Anyway. Sorry, I'll get your drinks."

Xander is smiling at him. I, meanwhile, can feel my face roaring beet-red.

"Oh, we're not... um..." I start, words trailing off as I realize I don't actually have the necessary description for what Xander and I actually are to each other. Burrito buddies who screw? The idea of it makes me snort. "We're... it's..."

"I think he's cute, too," Xander interrupts. Sounding twenty times as confident and steady as I could ever imagine feeling in a situation like this. 

The guy grins back. "You both are." Blushes, suddenly, as though he really didn't intend to be that forward. "Anyway, sorry, I'll get the drinks."

I watch him retreat behind the counter, then turn to look at Xander. "You can't tell people I'm cute," I scold. He looks unrepentant. 

"Why not, it's true isn't it?" 

I sigh, setting down my plate. I got three-quarters of the way through but breakfast has defeated me, and I've a strong suspicion that Xander isn't going to let me win this argument, either. 

"I just don't see myself that way, is all," I try to explain. Then freeze as he reaches out, fingers gently cradling my chin. Fight the urge to flick my eyes around, to see how much of the room might be watching him touch me. 

"That makes me sad," Xander says, softly, "because I think you're cute, and sexy, and funny, and even charming sometimes. Plus you make great videos."

I pull back, sharply, covering my eyes in embarrassment. "Oh god, don't. I knew I shouldn't have sent it." 

He laughs. "It was hot!" 

"It was dumb," I counter. "I should never have made it."

"Luka." He pauses, waits until I grudgingly pull my hands away from my eyes. Watch him glance down, pointedly, and so look down myself to where his cock is straining at the front of his jeans. When I dare meet his stare again, he's smirking. "It was fucking hot, okay? This is just from thinking about it now."

I swallow, slowly; throat thick. 

"I like..." Swallow again, wondering if I'll ever be able to speak properly in situations like this. If I'll ever get past this silly, almost childish sense of self-consciousness. "I like that I can... y'know."

Xander's smirk spreads a little wider. When he shifts on the sofa, just slightly, my eyes instinctively flick down to where the denim is stretched tight around him. Fabric so taut, I want to think I can make out the flare of his head.

"Turn me on?" he suggests. "Make me wicked hard, just from thinking about you?"

I nod, voice untrustworthy. Xander winks at me, conspiratorial. 

"Spoiler alert, you could do that from day one. Now it's just..." He looks me up and down, conspicuously, and the weight of his gaze feels like something physical, tangible across my skin. "Well, now I have better mental pictures to enjoy, too."

I clench my jaw, mustering confidence, then sit back a little on the couch. Push my hips forward as I do it, knowing just how that will make my jeans pull around me, and - I'm gratified to observe - seeing the way Xander's attention automatically drops to where I'm hard, too. 

"It doesn't have to be mental pictures," I tell him. Watch as he licks his lips, hungrily. 

"So these are the coffees and, uh... I mean..." We both look up, startled, as the guy starts to set down two cups. It's not entirely clear what he's seen, or heard, but he definitely seems flustered. "And if it's okay with you and, uh, you're done, I'll... I'll clear these plates for you," he rushes out. 

Sitting up, sharply - and wincing as that squeezes my junk awkwardly - I reach to help him with my plate. Cringing inwardly at what he could've just observed. "Sorry, we were... we'd have brought them up," I stutter out. 

He gives me a smile, two scores of red still burning across his cheekbones. "You were, uh, busy," he says. Xander chuckles, and I cast him a withering glance. 

"Would it be a hassle to get these in to-go cups?" Xander asks. "I kinda have to take this guy somewhere."

If I hadn't been blushing before, I would be now. The cafe guy looks like he's about to burst out laughing, and I can't blame him. Given what he just walked in on, it doesn't take much imagination to guess what Xander has in mind for me. 

Not that I'm really complaining about that.

"Sure, no problem," he says, grinning, as he scoops up the cups again. "Gimme just a minute, if you think you can wait..."

Xander snorts, then gives a pointed look in my direction. "It's tough to resist, but yeah, I guess," he jokes.

For a minute I think there's going to be another comment, but the guy just stands up with our drinks and chuckles. "Yeah, I bet. I'll be extra-quick, so you guys can get on with... your day."

I watch him walk back to the counter, then give Xander the most evil glare I can muster. "You need to behave. And tip that guy really, really well."

He looks smug, and unswayed by my scolding. Reaches out, instead, and runs his finger down my bare arm. "And you need to get ready for what I'm going to do to you, mister amateur-porn-star," he purrs. "You think you can handle that?"

Swallowing, but refusing to break our stare, I narrow my eyes at him. Feeling out of my depth, and maybe even a little out of control, but for once I'm leaning into it rather than feeling anxious or afraid. Xander can make the suggestions, yes, but it's down to me whether I shy away from them, or go along with him, or turn the tables and push him further still. I let a grin twist my lips, and watch with satisfaction as his attention instinctively drops to focus on my mouth.

"Bring it on." 

---

Huge thanks to everyone who has commented, shared, or rated this so far - I really love hearing what you think!

If Luka's exploration of his sexuality has you looking for more straight-boys-discover-gay-play tales, and you enjoy your erotica filled with ass-play, cum, college boy hookups, and some remote-control sex toys, then I think you'll like my story "Seven Days to Squirm" too...